The Sinai Secret

FORTY-TWO

Khan al-Khalil

Cairo

Lang didn't see many options. Even if he could literally push through the crowd, he would wind up confined by more stalls. The only good news was that for whatever reason, the Mukhabarat men had not yet called for backup or summoned the local police to join in the chase.

Lang moved sideways under the tent, pretending to examine a small carton of dates. The tent's proprietor smiled, showing yellowed teeth, and extended a hand with one of the fruits. He was offering a sample of the merchandise.

Tweedledum and Tweedledee, anticipating success, had slowed to a walk. As they approached, the angle for an escape right or left, never good, diminished even more.

Lang accepted the proffered date, nibbling tentatively as he backed slowly to stand beside one of the ropes supporting the canvas. Four guy lines wrapped around rocks held the tent against a peaked pole that looked less than steady. Lang guessed it was rigged for easy removal once the day's business was complete.

Tweedledee ducked as he stepped under the edge of the tent. From where he stood, Lang watched as Tweedledum did the same.

With a forced nonchalance, Lang took a step, as though to speak with the date seller. The two men anticipated his move and came further under the canvas.

Lang suddenly spun, exiting the shade of the sailcloth, and snatched the rope from its tethering rock. One corner of the canvas now hung limply. Repeating the move, he slipped the second line free, cutting himself off from the view of the two. He gave the corner a hard pull and the entire structure collapsed, to the screams and curses of those inside, who were blindly shoving one another to get out from under the confines of the enveloping canvas.

Lang fled.

Two blocks away he finally succeeded in waving down a cab and was on his way to the airport. He would take the first flight out to anywhere.

Then he had some very specific questions he needed to have answered.

The sound of his BlackBerry's beep startled him. It could be only one person.

"Yes, Sara?"

"Lang? I can't hear you."

Cairo's traffic intruded even through the cab's windows rolled up to contain air-conditioning of doubtful value; horns honking, as many mufflers missing as were still working, the driver's radio blaring something Lang supposed was music. He tapped the man on the shoulder, motioning him to lower the volume.

"Okay, Sara, try again."

"Lang, someone slipped a package through the mail slot last night."

"The mayor can't afford stamps?"

"Lang, I'm serious."

"Okay, what's in it?" "Makes no sense. A ring with an emerald in the shape of a heart."

It took Lang three tries to Alicia's personal office number before someone else answered.

No, Ms. Warner was not in her office. No, she had not called in. The anonymous coworker was certain Alicia had an appointment out of the office and had simply forgotten to tell anyone.

Lang was less sure.